


Permenance

by bessemerprocess



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Other, Porn Battle, Post Reichenbach, Writing on Skin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-05
Updated: 2012-02-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 16:32:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/333764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bessemerprocess/pseuds/bessemerprocess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock refuses to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Permenance

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle: Sherlock/John, india ink.

Some nights, Sherlock wants John so much he makes it all the way to the door before he stops himself. John must be kept safe, and so Sherlock must stay dead, to John most of all.

Those nights, Sherlock locks himself safely away, barricading the door, and lets himself remember.

His memory is highly trained, a palace of facts and figures, but the feel of John’s fingers on his skin is slipping away. He can no longer remember the exact amount of pressure, or the ridges on John’s finger tips. He refuses to let the memory go. He wants every bit, needs every bit of John to get through this.

Sherlock writes John in the crook of his elbow, on the soles of his feet. He has left John, but he cannot leave him, and so he spreads the india ink across his skin, black and telling.

He inscribes John’s resting heart rate over his own heart, the color of his eyes on his palm, the arc of John’s gait on his shin. Sherlock writes until there is no more skin, until he is covered in the facts and the figures of John, until he is so hard that his precome smears the ink on his belly. He lets the ink blur as he runs his hands over his body, erasing the separate pieces of John, letting them come together into a whole, into John.

It doesn’t take much, three sharp tugs until he spills out on his own skin and John’s ink. He lets his fingers trail through the mixture in the aftermath, come and ink swirling together, until he can no longer tell that they had ever been separate substances.

Now, he must get up and shower, scrub away all traces of John, all traces of Sherlock-that-was until his skin is raw and red. Still, even when the ink is gone, he’ll be able to see the words, the numbers that don’t even come close to encompassing John Watson. He’ll be able to hold on, until every last one of Moriarty's circle is dead, and he can have John in the flesh, instead of in ink.


End file.
